Disclaimer: Zootopia stories, characters, settings, and properties belong to the Walt Disney Co. This story is written under Fair Use Copyright laws.
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The Fire Triangle
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Part Two:
Oxidizer
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Chapter 1—A Rock and a Hard Place
(Continued...Part 4)
No one should have been more content right now than Farrokh 'Frank' Arsia. Instead the kulan was struggling to keep his distress under wraps.
It wasn't easy; like all species of wild ass, he was possessed of ears the length of corn-shucks, built-in semaphores that could easily betray his emotions. Learning to keep them in check—especially while arguing a case in court—had required many hours of arduous practice
By rights, he shouldn't have needed that level of self-control at this particular moment. After much effort, he had finally succeeded in getting his clients' bail reduced—and found a bondsmammal willing to front him the money for their release. Now, having at last secured the Rafaj Brothers' freedom (pending trial,) he had just finished escorting them through processing at the Savanna Central Correctional Center. That task accomplished, the only remaining obstacle between the jackals and their temporary liberty was the jail's front lobby. It should have put Frank in a chipper mood; a good day's work, all in all. Instead, he was apprehensive, and for a number of different reasons.
Upon hearing the news of their impending release, Ahmed and Ismael al-Rafaj had all but thrown themselves at his hooves, practically whimpering with gratitude. A lovely gesture, but even they had to know that it had required no great feat of legal wizardry on their attorney's part—not after that surveillance video from their jewelry shop had somehow been posted online. In the wake of that fiasco, a rookie public defender could have gotten them out on bail. (A true legal shark like, say, Vernon J. Rodenberg, might have even had their case dismissed.)
The Rafaj Brothers...
Frank had long since begun to understand why their previous attorney had quit on them. There was something more than a little off-putting about these two.
As practically anyone in the legal profession knows, clients who lie and hold out on you are par for the course. Frank Arsia, Attorney at Law, could count on the fingers of one paw the animals he'd represented who'd been completely honest with him, (and he didn't have paws, he had HOOVES.)
Ahmed and Ishmael, however, had always seemed to take it to a whole new level. Every time the kulan had met with them, he'd come away with the uneasy feeling that they'd omitted a key detail—and not by mistake. Furthermore, some of their answers had always seemed just a little bit TOO well-rehearsed, even for a felony suspect. And that brought up another issue, nearly all of those answers had come from Ahmed al-Rafaj; he did most of the talking for both of them. And always before he spoke up, he would first throw his younger sibling a silencing glare.
And therein lay the problem; it didn't always work. Ismael al-Rafaj was easily the most cantankerous canine Frank had ever encountered; his outbursts were the verbal equivalent of a stink-bomb. The thought of him letting loose like that in front of a judge was enough to make the kulan feel colicky.
Even more perturbing was the jackals' point-blank refusal to give him the name of even a single one of their blood diamond sources. Frank could understand not wanting to reveal that information to the police; trading in conflict diamonds is frequently the second career of illegal arms dealers—and these individuals are most assuredly NOT noted for having a forgiving nature.
Fine, but then why keep that information from their lawyer? Not only was that pointless, it was counterproductive—as he must have pointed out to the brothers at least a dozen times by now. It was no use; no matter how hard he'd pleaded, no matter how many times he had cited the attorney/client privilege, they'd refused to budge. Even now, they hadn't dropped so much as a hint as to where they'd obtained their blood diamonds. The only thing of which Frank could be certain was that they'd had more than one supplier—but how many more? About that, he still didn't have even the slightest idea. "Dirt on my head," he had never been so frustrated with a case.
And the jackals wouldn't even say why they were holding out on him. They never denied it, but they wouldn't explain it either—and that was the most vexing part of all. The only clue had come during one of Ismael's sporadic eruptions. "Our graves are nearly dug as it is!"
What in the name of Fursepolis had he meant by that?
Turning the corner, Frank saw, directly up ahead, an electrically operated metal door with a CCTV camera mounted above it. Ahhh, almost home; this was the last hurdle before the front desk, where his clients would collect their fursonal effects and then be set free on bail.
The thought of it gave him another shaft of unease—and this time for a reason the kulan couldn't quite fathom.
He stopped, waiting with the jackals for the doorway to open, and feeling his ears lay backwards. This time he made no attempt to conceal his displeasure; any other attorney in his position would have felt the same way. Savanna Central Correctional was an ACS, not a city-run facility—which meant it was basically managed by low-wage rent-a-cops.
And that meant, he was in for nice, long wait.
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Approximately 50 yards distant, Judy Hopps was also in an anxious state, although for a decidedly different reason.
"Dangit Swinton...Where ARE you?"
It should have been a slam dunk. When the doe-bunny had sketched out her idea for Chief Bogo, he had not only given his approval, he'd practically rubbed his hooves together in anticipation.
"Ahhh, I only wish I could be there to see their faces," he'd said, sounding almost wistful.
"I'll give you a full report, sir," Judy had promised, raising her paw in a mock bunny-scout salute. Yes! Having gotten the green-light from the Chief, she'd needed only to get hold of Swinton. After that everything would be good to go.
Famous last words! Almost from the instant she exited Bogo's office, Judy's plan had begun to unravel. First, when she'd tried to phone Swinton at home, the call had gone directly to voice-mail. Sending a text had further elicited no response—and then nobody in Precinct 1 had seemed to know if the pig-cop even had an email address. Finally, with less than an hour to go, her phone had buzzed and the elusive sow's face had appeared on the screen.
She had not been in the most amicable frame of mind. "Dangit Hopps, I'm on a date right now! This better be important."
"Sorry. Sorry, but yes it is," Judy had answered, laying out a rough description of her conversation with Chief Bogo. When she'd explained what she'd needed Swinton for, the sow had grunted—and then sighed.
"All right, I'll be there, but this better work—and you owe me, rabbit!"
"Claire, you're a lifesaver," Judy had almost beamed, only to have the pig-cop let loose a cloudburst on her parade.
"How soon are they getting out, Hopps? I'm all the way up in Old Growth City right now."
"Ohhhh, carrot stiiiiiicks!" the doe-bunny had groaned silently, wishing she had a wall close by, so she could pound her head against it, "Just get to SC3 as quick as you can, okay?" (SC3 was the Savanna Central Correctional Center's unofficial nickname.)
"We'll do our best," Swinton had promised and then rung off.
Now Judy was standing outside the entrance to the jail, thumping her foot and wishing for time to slow down.
Located in the Vole Garden, a neighborhood in the southwest quadrant of Savanna Central, the facility was a two story brick-and-concrete affair, built roughly in the shape of a checkmark. It was actually two separate facilities; a larger wing, for animals serving time for lesser offenses, and a smaller one for those awaiting trial. It was here that the Rafaj brothers had been housed ever since their arraignment.
And wouldn't it be just a bunny's luck? This place was a good three miles further from Old Growth City than the Precinct 1 jail.
"Whatever you do, DON'T tell yourself, 'at least things can't get any worse,'" she reminded herself sardonically.
A buzzing at her hip pulled her swiftly away from these thoughts. Extracting the cell from its holster, she saw Swinton's face on the display screen. Judging by what was visible in the background, the pig-cop was calling from the inside of a moving vehicle—one that wasn't moving all that swiftly.
"We're trying Judy, but there's a wreck on the expressway and we're having to use surface streets to get there. Is there any way the officers on duty at SC3 can stall things for a while?"
"Already asked, Claire," the doe-bunny sighed. "They told me 'sorry, we don't have the authority.'"
Swinton's mouth became a flat, hard line.
"Deadhead jerks!" she grunted, "Wel-l-ll do what you can; we'll be there as soon as possible."
"Thanks, I know you're giving it your best," Judy nodded, and with nothing more to say, she disconnected and returned the phone to its holster.
"Nnnnnngh," Stretching her arms above her head, she caught herself wishing, not for the first time, that she'd kept her brilliant idea to herself. How much of a trainwreck was this turning into? Let me count the ways.
First of all...Swinton had told her 'We're trying to get there.' as in, her date was coming with her to the correctional center.
"It's the only way Judy," the pig-cop had said. "We'd have to detour all the way to Riverside to get my car—and then I'd never make it in time." While the doe bunny had understood, she had also understood something else.
Swinton's part in her plan was supposed to be anything but an active one. Maybe so, but if she brought her date along, it would mean involving a civilian in police business—and the responsibility for however that played out would rest squarely on the shoulders of Officer Judy Hopps. Knowing that, the doe-bunny had been momentarily unable to make up her mind; should she, or shouldn't she? What had finally tipped the scales was when Swinton had said, "Eddie's a big boar, with big tusks; you wouldn't believe he's a regular guy just to look at him—and he doesn't want to know what any of this is about."
"Okay," Judy had answered reluctantly—VERY reluctantly. Now her plan had better work or else.
Looking towards the jail's front window, she saw that the Barbary sheep and cougar in charge of the front desk were watching her again. As before, their expressions were completely empty of either amusement or sympathy. As a matter of fact, their faces looked just plain empty; bored with life, the world, and especially with their jobs.
But then, considering the nature of their work and how much, (or rather how little) it paid, that was hardly surprising,
Shortly after the unravelling of the Savage Predator plot, the Zootopia City Council, in a cost-cutting move, had voted to privatize the city's correctional system. While they'd presented it as a bold, even innovative idea, it had actually been languishing in bureaucratic purgatory for nearly a year. You could thank then-Mayor Leodore Lionheart for that one. From the get-go, he'd been foursquare against the idea and had blocked it at every turn; surprisingly, so had his successor, Dawn Bellwether. Once those two were out of the picture, however, there'd been nothing to prevent the measure from passing, and it had sailed through a late-night city council session with only a single dissenting vote.
The bid for control of the city's jails and prisons had been won by Aker Correctional Systems, a highly respected firm that also ran the Zoo York and Zoo Jersey prisons. Upon taking up the task, Aker's first act had been to offer jobs to the correctional officers and other fursonell let go in the wake of the transfer. On the surface it had seemed like a magnanimous gesture.
In practice, it had been anything but; the reaction from the former ZCS correctional officers had been swift and to the point. To a mammal they had summarily rejected the offer, variously describing it as 'a joke,' 'an insult,' and in other, far more colorful terms. "Fast food wages, with practically no benefits," was how Claire Swinton had once described it, "and you can kiss your seniority good-bye." Since then, Judy had made a point of never mentioning the name 'Aker' in the pig-cop's presence; she could go on for hours about 'those stuck-up suits and the deadheads they hired to replace us.'
And Swinton had been one of the lucky few who had managed a transfer to the ZPD. Her feelings on the takeover were downright tepid compared to those of some of her less-fortunate former colleagues.
She'd been spot-on about one thing though; 'deadheads' was a more than apt description of the animals watching Judy through the window right now; but then, what else would you expect? With such pitiful compensation, it was practically a given that the officers hired by Aker would be of a far lower caliber than the animals they'd replaced.
That they were; more than a few of them were Police Academy washouts, and even more had gone to work for Aker simply because it was the only work they could get; a few were even former correctional officers, cashiered by the city for repeated disciplinary infractions. Unsurprisingly many, if not most of them didn't last; the ACS turnover rate for new hires was supposed to be higher than for animals working in retail. Small wonder then, that the big cat and sheep behind the jail's front desk looked like nothing so much as a pair of convenience-store slackers—except for the uniforms.
Yes, and that was another thing; great, screaming lettuce-heads, who the heck had designed those outfits? Black pants and tan shirts (with epaulets,) Sam Bruin belts and tall caps with ridiculously short bills. They looked like something out of a bad remake of The Hunter Games. Taken together with everything else, it should have been a recipe disaster, but instead...
From practically the moment ACS had taken over from Zootopia Corrections, the recidivism rate for newly paroled convicts had gone into a downward spiral—until now it was at the lowest level in decades. Say what you wanted about Aker's pitiful compensation, animals released from their facilities were NOT going out and committing more crimes. Almost equally impressive was that there'd been not even a single escape from an Aker jail since the firm's arrival in Zootopia. "That Lewis kid would NEVER have gotten away from them;" words allegedly spoken by District Rep Sven Kristofferson at a recent City Council session.
How had Aker Correctional Systems pulled it off? Nobody seemed to know, and even fewer seemed to care. As the old saw goes, 'If it ain't broke, don't fix...'
Oops, the Barbary sheep was signaling to her, waving a hoof while pointing with the other one. Great...wonderful; the Rafaj brothers were one door away from the lobby and there was still no sign of Swinton. Should Judy try to call her again? No, no time; just get inside and wing it—try to stall them for as long as possible.
And if that didn't work...
She felt in her pocket for the document, the court order revoking the Rafaj Brothers' bail. Whatever else happened, those two weren't going anywhere tonight. The only problem was, the directive was basically a nuclear option. It would work, but it wouldn't leave much worth salvaging. The likelihood of the jackals agreeing to cooperate afterwards would be not unlike the chances of a rhino taking up residence in the treetops.
And that would not sit well with Chief Bogo—OR the Police-Board.
...especially if the powers that be discovered that Officer Hopps had gotten a civilian involved—and, even more especially when she was already sitting at a count of 0-and-2. Strike one, the 'behaving badly' tapes of her and her former partner, strike two, her unauthorized meeting with Mr. Big. If she missed on this one, there would be no joy in Bunnyburrow; mighty Judy just struck OUT.
She hurried through the entrance, making a beeline for the front desk; thank God there were no there no other visitors here right now.
"Where...?" she started to ask, and was answered by the cougar's laconic finger, pointing to the hallway, just left of the desk.
"Thanks," she said, surrendering her keys and cell-phone as per standard jailhouse procedure. Ducking hurriedly around the corner, she found herself in front of a metal door, fitted with a thick, armored-glass window, too high up for her to look through. She waited for a second; nothing happened, and she turned and called over a shoulder. "Buzz me in, please?" Another second passed and Judy thought they either hadn't heard her or weren't paying attention... Wait, there it was, the hum and the click.
The door opened and she stepped through—and immediately found herself less than an inch away from Ismael al-Rafaj—who was at first equally surprised, and then practically dripping with loathing.
Well, at least he'd recognized her; as had his brother, whose gaze was only slightly less poisonous. The donkey accompanying the jackals—presumably their lawyer—seemed to have no idea who she was.
"You...and what are you doing here?" Ismael demanded, showing a fang.
Before Judy could respond to this, the donkey intervened.
"Excuse me, but who is this?"
"Officer Judy Hopps, ZPD," the doe-bunny said, showing her badge to the attorney. "And you are...?"
Before Frank could answer, Ismael cut in ahead of him
"She is the...the rabbit who kissed the fox, right in front of us."
Judy might have been a prey species, but there was no way she wasn't going to pounce on this. Slapping her paws on her hips, she sneered upwards at the pair of jackals.
"Yep, that's right; and you two fell for it like a ton of bricks. Instead of hitting the security shutters, like you should have, you threw my partner and me out of your shop." Lifting her paw, she waved it back and forth, as if showing off an invisible engagement ring. "WITH the evidence in our possession; way to go, chumps."
Oh-kayyy, Ismael had given her an opening, and she'd seized on it. But now would either he or his brother take the bait? "Oh please, let it happen," Judy silently begged. A shouting match would delay the jackals' departure nicely. And every second now was as precious as a nugget of gold.
Unhappily for her, a cooler head quickly prevailed.
"Never mind that, you still haven't told us why you're here." It was the wild ass, again, and this time he was proffering a business card. "Frank Arsia, attorney at law, I represent these two jackals. So again, what is your business with my clients?"
Judy set her jaw and took a breath; there was nothing for her to do now except swing for the fences.
"Mr. Arsia, the ZPD has it on good authority that the Red Pig put a contract out on the Rafaj Brothers." She pointed behind her, towards the lobby and the front exit beyond. "If you let them leave here, you can probably count their life expectancy in minutes," an exaggeration even if true; they wouldn't be hit that quickly. But in Judy's mind, it was a necessary gambit, anything to hold them here for as long as possible.
The kulan lifted a skeptical ear.
"Rocco Peccari? What possible issue could HE have with my clients?"
"We haven't determined that as yet," Judy folded her arms and focused her gaze on the pair of jackals, speaking in a slightly accusatory tone, "Why don't you ask them?"
Arsia took a step forward, as if preparing to push past her. But then, halfway there, he turned and glanced sideways at the brothers—and stopped dead in his tracks.
They were practically hugging one another, looking absolutely petrified.
It wouldn't last long, and Judy knew it; she had seen this many times before. Tell practically anybody that there's a mob hit out on them, and the first thing you get is shock—followed by denial.
Predictably it came first from Ismael. "Rubbish!" he cried, throwing up his paws in disgust, "The Red Pig had nothing to do with....with these ridiculous claims that the city has lodged against us—of my brother and I having supposedly dealt in conflict diamonds."
Judy almost smiled, recalling a line from a book; 'The best way to tell a lie is to tell only so much of the truth—and then shut up.'
Ismael, meanwhile, was winding himself up into a lovely snit.
"This is nothing but another one of your filthy bunny-tricks."
'Bunny-tricks'...now Judy was almost laughing. Glancing over at Ahmed, she saw him struggling to keep his fangs sheathed. The lawyer, Mr. Arsia, appeared to be one step away from turning around and kicking the younger jackal's head for a field goal. You could almost hear their thoughts, ringing through the air like the blast of a double trumpet, "Shut! UP!"
If Ismael heard it, he gave no indication.
"A crude attempt to wring a false confession from my brother and me; and it will not work!" He concluded by folding his arms and thrusting his muzzle upwards. Beside him, his brother was no longer able to keep his fangs under wraps, and was muttering something unintelligible to himself. Frank Arsia seemed equally exasperated. Nonetheless, Judy could see that both he and the elder jackal were beginning to eye her suspiciously.
"Most peculiar that you should only just now have learned of this," Ahmed told her, narrowing his gaze.
"Yes, I find the timing rather odd as well," Frank Arsia agreed, raising that ear again. "And if the Red Pig's Razorbacks are truly lying in wait for my clients, why did the ZPD send only a single officer to deliver the warning?"
Judy gritted her teeth and mentally crossed her fingers. All right, she had stalled for as long as she could. Swinton and her date would either be waiting outside or they wouldn't be; either way, it was show-time.
"I'm telling you, this is for real!" she cried, spreading her arms like a crossing-guard, "They've got spotters parked right outside the jail. Come and look for yourself if you don't believe me!"
For a moment, it appeared as if the jackals and their lawyer were just going to roll right over the top of her...but then Mr. Arsia snuffled and turned to his clients and snuffled.
"I'll go...just in case."
Ismael's ears and lips shot backwards in a canine snarl. "No, we have wasted enough...!"
"Better safe than sorry, brother." Ahmed interrupted, laying a paw on his sibling's shoulder. He was still every bit as skeptical as Ismael—but also smart enough to consider what might happen if the bunny-cop was right. However remote the chances, however unlikely it might be that the Red Pig had his enforcers waiting outside the jail, his wrath was something almost too terrible to contemplate.
In a curious but fortuitous irony, the guards' careless attitude now played directly into Judy's paws; she had to ring four times before she and Mr. Arsia were finally buzzed through the door.
"All right, where are they?" the attorney demanded, as soon as it closed behind them.
Judy crossed her fingers, for real this time, and issued a silent petition. "Please, Swinton...BE there!"
"You can't see them from here," she told the kulan, "Walk with me and pretend like we're talking."
"All right," he said, falling into step beside her.
She led him on a circuitous route along the perimeter of the reception area...and this time, it wasn't merely for the sake of delay. Had the Red Pig's goons really been watching from outside, this would be the best way to avoid attracting their attention.
"If they're out there, why hasn't the ZPD arrested them?" Mr. Arsia asked, even more doubtful than a moment ago.
"For what?" Judy shrugged. "The pigs out front of the jail are only the spotters, not the hitters. They won't even be armed." She directed her gaze upwards at the attorney for a second. "And if we try to roust them, Peccari will know that WE know he's gunning for your clients. He doesn't yet, and that's our biggest advantage so far."
Arsia's ear flicked briefly backwards; he was still unconvinced.
"And just WHY would the Red Pig be—as you so quaintly put it—'gunning' for my clients?"
Now Judy's ears pulled backwards.
"Like I said before, Counselor, ask them, not me. We haven't had time to figure that out yet; all we know is that Rocco Peccari has it in for the Rafaj Brothers and in a big way." Glancing upwards again, she met the kulan's gaze directly, "And make no mistake Mr. Arsia, if he doesn't get them tonight, he will eventually. There are only two ways off of the Red Pig's hit list. A. he gives you a pass; B. by way of the city morgue." She wondered for a second if she wasn't laying it on just a little too thick—and then decided, 'nahhh.' "Good thing there aren't any Razorbacks housed in here right now," she said, making a sweeping gesture around the lobby with her paw. "In that case, your clients would have probably been hit already." She nodded in the direction of the bored-looking animals behind the front desk, adding, "And I think you can guess the reason why."
Nearly anybody could have guessed it and strangely enough, that was what finally prompted the kulan to shed at least some of his distrust. Hitting a target in jail is another venerated Cosa Nostra tradition—and a contest between the losers running this place and even a single, seasoned mob assassin would be virtually no contest at all.
But now Judy had come to the point of make or break; the vantage from which Claire Swinton and her date would be visible—IF they were out there. "Okay, this is the place."
The front foyer of the SVCC had been built in a semi-triangle; the left side windows fronted by a row of closely-spaced Dracaena Trees. Now Judy moved close to the glass, cupping her paws above her eyes and peering into the space between two of them, looking for...
Nothing! The place where she'd instructed Swinton to wait was empty...DANGIT! Nothing to do now but to go for that court order and...
...And that was when a car pulled up to the curb in front of her.
And hallelujah, the occupants on the other side of the tinted windows were visible only as silhouettes...but even so, you couldn't mistake them for anything else. They were pigs—with a capital P in the case of the driver. Whoa, Claire had said that her BF was a big guy, but this was the most ginormous boar-pig Judy had ever seen; he seemed to fill the driver's compartment to nearly overflowing.
And, just to put a cherry on top, he was sitting at the wheel of a coal-black, low-slung Lincoon Clawntinenal, a car that practically screamed 'Wiseguy.'
"Swinton, I could kiss you!"
"Well?" a voice from behind the doe-bunny demanded, and she had to thump her foot to keep from sniggering.
"Take a look for yourself, Counselor," she said, stepping back with a somber expression and gesturing to the place where she'd been standing. Arsia regarded her doubtfully for a moment, and then took her place at the window, leaning in close to the glass.
...And then he shied back so hurriedly he almost fell over backwards. "Bismillah!" the doe bunny heard him gasping under his breath. It had worked; her plan had...
Without warning, the kulan's ears laid back and his nose wrinkled upwards; an expression of unbridled, asinine rage.
Judy's heart fell straight into her stomach. Wha...? What the heck had she done wrong...?
But then the attorney directed his gaze away from her, and towards the corridor leading back to the jail cells. His ears had flattened so tightly against his neck they seemed to have melted into it.
"If you don't mind, Officer Hopps," he said, not looking at her and speaking in a taut, quivering voice, "I would like to have a...a PRIVATE word with my clients."
"But of course," the doe bunny answered, wanting nothing so much as to leap up and perform a twist in the air, "Yes!"
A moment later, she was leaning back against the wall outside an interrogation cell, arms folded and the sole of one foot propped against it. Even with her sensitive rabbit-ears, she was unable to make out what was being said on the other side of the partition, but then again, she didn't need to. Every utterance from Frank Arsia was delivered as a loud, angry bray, while the responses from the Rafaj Brothers were barely audible, if that. Judy could understand the kulan's feelings and was even able to sympathize with him a little. If the Red Pig's enforcers really had been out there, waiting to hit the two jackals, their lawyer would have gone too if he'd gotten in the way. (The Razorbacks never let little inconveniences like bystanders interfere with their work.) No surprise then that he was so furious with them.
For her part, Judy felt neither guilt nor shame at having deceived the jackals. There might not be any hitters lying in wait for them NOW—but there would be, soon enough. Not only had they been dealing in blood diamonds behind The Red Pig's back, they were arguably the animals responsible for having dragged him into a possible gang war with the Tundratown mob. Come to think of it, that gave Mr. Big some probable cause to have them iced as well. "Nope, sorry Counselor," the doe-bunny thought, massaging the back of her neck with a paw, "I'm actually doing your clients a favor."
Someone knocked on the door to the interrogation cell. When Judy opened it, she found Frank Arsia there, his face suffused with the expression of a teacher who just caught two of his students cheating on a test. Behind him the Rafaj brothers were seated at a metal table, unable to meet either her or their attorney's gaze.
"Would you step inside for a moment please, Officer Hopps?" the kulan said, his tone deeply formal and crisp as an onion skin. "My clients have a request they wish to make."
He said this and glanced severely at Ismael, who for once, turned away shamefaced.
"Very well, what is it?" Judy asked. She already knew the answer, but wanted to make the brothers squirm a little. She too held them at least indirectly responsible for the ongoing cold-war between Tundratown and Sahara Square.
Arsia waited until the door had closed and then favored each jackal with a quick, hard glare, letting it linger for a moment in the case on Ismael. Then he turned and spoke to Judy again. "My clients wish to waive bail..."
That was as far as he got before Ismael was halfway out of his seat. An even harsher look from his attorney—and also from Ahmed and Judy—put him swiftly back in his place again.
"And they also wish to be placed in protective custody," the kulan went on.
Judy raised an ear, assuming her best naïve-hick fursona.
"Why, what would you need that for, boys?' she asked, smiling sweet venom at the pair of jackals.
They just looked at each other and then the floor. "You know what for...bunny," Ahmed mumbled, bitterly.
"Officer Hopps to you!" she snapped, dropping all pretense of civility. "Yes, I know that, what I DON'T know is why the Red Pig wants you dead." She thrust a finger in the jackal's face, "So no more holding out on us, Ahmed. If you and your brother want the ZPD's protection, then you'd better be prepared to tell us everything—and I mean everything, the names of your blood diamond suppliers, the details of your relationship with Rocco Peccari, all of it; and this time it better be the whole truth."
"You can't..." Ismael started to protest.
"Or, you can take your chances out on the street," the doe-bunny cut him off, tetchily thumping her foot. "So, what's it going to be, boys? I can wait here all night for your answer."
She actually had to wait for only a few seconds, "Very well," the jackals murmured in unison before Ahmed raised his head again. "But we want to be transferred to a safer facility—and we want to be moved tonight."
"That can be arranged," Judy nodded, more than willing to allow him this small concession—although not without a condition or two: "Just remember; everything, no more holding out on us...or else." And then to Frank Arsia she said, "Take them back to their cells. I'll inform the officers up front that they won't be leaving for a while and then see about arranging a transfer to a different jail."
"Very good," the kulan replied, speaking for his clients.
Chief Bogo turned out to be delighted at Judy's report, and did not criticize her one bit for having gotten a civilian involved.
"Well done, Hopps; quite well done indeed. We'll let those two stew for a bit before you talk to them again, eh?"
"Right Chief," Judy answered, brightly. She actually wasn't sure if that was such a good idea but hey... Bogo was putting her in charge of the Rafaj Brothers' further interrogation. That more than made up for it.
"In the meantime, I'll see about getting them moved to another facility," the Big Cape buffalo was saying, "as for you Hopps, your work for tonight's done; come on home."
"Yes, SIR!" Judy answered, almost gushing with gratitude...and also relief.
Her plan had really been little more than a colossal bluff. Cooperation or no, the ZPD would never deny police protection to an animal under threat from the Red Pig. Judy knew it, Chief Bogo knew it and the Rafaj brothers and their lawyer might have thought they knew it, but they couldn't be 100% sure. And, given the nature of the animal whose ire they'd aroused, even a remote possibility that they might be left to their own devices was a chance they didn't dare take. That, at least, had been Judy's reasoning in coming up with her idea—and in the end, it had paid off handsomely.
Exiting the SC3 building, the first thing she noticed was that Swinton had already departed. Hmmm, that was a little odd. You would have thought she'd want to hang around and find out...
"D'ohhh, dumb bunny," Judy grimaced, laughing inwardly at her mistake. Of course the pig cop wouldn't have wanted to stay for the finale; she was out on a date, remember? It went without saying that...
"WHAT THE...?"
Another car was easing up to the spot where the Clawninental had been parked, a smaller vehicle this time...much smaller, a burgundy-red Hogda Civet, the occupants clearly visible through the windshield.
Both of them were pigs; the one in the driver's seat was a big, if not hulking, wild boar.
The animal in the passenger seat was Claire Swinton.
Judy just stared, wide-eyed, with her nose twitching.
"But...But if that's Claire and her boyfriend, then who the heck...?"
The answer hit her like a face-pawlm. And when it did, she didn't know whether to laugh, cry...or scream. So instead, she just laced her fingers behind her head and rolled her eyes upwards at the star-flecked sky.
"Ohhh, sweet cheez' n' whole-WHEAT crackers!"